


Constellations

by cypress_tree



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's dangerous at night—there are predators watching—but being able to see the stars is worth the tremble in his fingertips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geniusbee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=geniusbee).



> a fantasy au in the woods. damp green moss and sweet-smelling soil. onion-dyed orange and wooden buttons carved by hand.
> 
> written for bee.

\---

 

“Tonight?” Newt asks.

“Tonight.”

 

\---

 

Hermann pulls his satchel from its hiding place. He packs a pouch of roasted nuts and a whistle carved from ash. He slings his waterskin across his chest. When he looks up, Newt is standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on his face, a stone-bladed knife in his belt. The forest is unfamiliar at night—unsafe.

“Are you ready?”

Hermann nods. He takes the hand that Newt offers, and stands.

 

\---

 

They travel through curtains of underbrush, past the summer glade and the pool. Tree roots upend the earth where they step. Hermann’s cane sinks into soil.

“It’s warm tonight,” Newt whispers. “Maybe too warm for them to hunt.”

Their footsteps are quiet and careful.

In the day, Newt walks freely. He splashes in streams because he likes the sound and crunches gravel just for its texture. At night, his demeanor is different. He doesn’t snap twigs, doesn’t leave a trail. He does nothing that will draw danger close.

There’s a rustle of leaves, and they both lift their heads. A rabbit shoots out from its burrow.

"I thought that was—" A sigh of relief. "When was the last attack?"

Hermann’s fingers slide down his cane until they find notches dug deep into wood. One, two, three.

"Three months," he says.

Newt nods. He grips his knife a little tighter. They continue to walk.

 

\---

 

Filtered moonlight trickles through branches ahead. They’re edging the clearing, and Hermann can feel his fingertips tingle. There’s excitement in his bones, vibration in his breath. Soon the sky will be open, unending.

Newt peers past trees and into the field. He gazes around, a half-circle.

“It’s safe,” he says. “You know the signal, if you need me.”

Hermann’s heart pounds like a drum—a thud against hide. His palms itch to touch stars.

“I’ll be just thirty paces away. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Hermann turns. Newt is staring at him, eyes open wide. Hermann reaches out, puts a hand to Newt’s cheek.

“I know,” he says. He lets his hand fall away. He takes the first step.

 

\---

 

Grasses sway in the breeze, flat underfoot. Hermann walks slowly, alert. There’s no sound but that of peeping insects, the distant flutter of wings. Hermann’s heart shudders, but the calm of the field takes over.

The stars shine brightly. The moon glows heavy and full. Hermann walks to an old rotting log, then lies cradled in its hollow. When he’s on his back, he feels like he’s floating. The trees fade to the edges of his vision, and all that exists are great swathes of glittering sky. It’s dizzying—intoxicating.

Hermann sighs deep breaths, feels tears prick his eyes. He finds his favorite stars, notes whether they’ve moved since his last visit. He finds the patterns he’s plucked out—the pictures.

One is the Sky Tree, with branches stretched wide. Another, the Hunter—named for a wildcat that roams the wood. Hermann spots the River Falls, the Spear, the Twin Bears. He stretches his neck, looks for his favorite. He finds it toward the east.

Ten stars form the shape of a body. A galaxy splashes both arms. Hermann calls this the Painted Man. Its brightest point is a star shining red in its chest. Hermann closes his eyes, imagines this heart beating.

There’s a breeze in the air, and it’s gentle and warm. The moonlight feels like a kiss. Hermann drops one hand to the ground, runs his fingers through tender green grass. Newt had told him once— _I think you were born of stars. I see them when I look at you._ Hermann feels these words in his bloodstream, moving swiftly through his veins.

 

\---

 

He stays in the field until his eyes start to close. His limbs are all heavy, weighed down. Wisps of cloud are drifting closer, the night’s caving in. Hermann knows it’s now time to leave. He sits up, lifts his cane from the grass.

Hermann can’t see Newt in the dark, but knows that he is there. When he steps back beneath the canopy, Newt appears amid the limbs of an oak.

“How were they?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” Hermann murmurs. “Bright.”

Newt smiles and drops from the tree. They begin the long trek back home.

 

\---

 

They live in a temporary shelter—a dry and abandoned cave. It’s quiet and clean—warm with a fire.

Hermann leans back into his cushion of sweetgrass. Watching the flames makes him sleepy. He holds a pendant in his hand—a piece of bone that Newt carved into a waning moon. He twists it on its cord, clockwise, then counterclockwise, clockwise, then counter.

“I’d like to see them sometime,” Newt says. Hermann looks up at him. “The stars, I mean. I’d like to see them, when it’s safe.”

“You’ve seen the stars before.”

“Not with you.”

Hermann lowers his eyes. He looks at the fire, then at Newt’s forearm. Newt has used a porcupine quill to press black ink beneath his skin. He’s covered in pictures—he’s painted.

“Perhaps I’ll show you one day,” Hermann says.

Newt pokes at the fire to shift a log, then leans over and kisses Hermann softly on the forehead. It feels different than moonlight. Hermann closes his eyes. Newt’s lips feel like the sun.

 

\---


End file.
